Of Broomclosets and Stereotypes
by Plot Bunny Stew
Summary: Hordes of fans? A selflocking broomcloset? Hatred so strong the victims resort to intercourse? Can anyone spell STEREOTYPE? Partial parody. HPDM


Alrighty, I recently came to the decision that I should write HP fanfiction due to the fact that I have grown tired of being a leech and sustaining myself solely off of others' work. So…here it is! Ta da! I actually have several other plot ideas that I'll most likely put into motion eventually… so yeah. Enjoy, I suppose.

This is a SLASHY part-parody that combines as many HD stereotypes as I could remember. THIS STORY REVOLVES AROUND HOT GUY-ON-GUY ACTION OF THE HARRY/DRACO VARIETY! DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ, DON'T FLAME!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything this story is about. Not the characters or the settings or even the parts of the plot… the last I have stolen from fellow HD writers. They wouldn't be stereotypes if I had made them up.

-

Of Broomclosets and Stereotypes

By Plot Bunny Stew

-

To the majority of Hogwarts' witches, the fact that Harry was commonly known as a psychopathic freak meant nothing. Neither did the thought that perhaps he would die before the age at which babies are generally produced. Or the fact that his first kiss had been described as "wet." Those facts (as well as many others) were mere technicalities which were easily tossed to the winds. Why? Because Harry Potter was hot.

In the earlier "hunts" (as they were often called in Hogwarts gossip), Harry had eventually given in to their pleas for attention or sought Hermione to defend his virtue. However, after he had been shoved against one too many walls and consequently had one too many unspeakable things done to his tongue without permission of any sort, such precautions were dropped and the pursuits became a matter of survival.

This time was no different. As he tore through the hallways, Harry could hear the swarm behind him and, quite frankly, it scared the shit out of him—a mass of terror and lipstick. Stealing a glance behind him, the Teen-Who-Ran shot a series of quick curses over his shoulder in a futile attempt to diminish the mob even slightly, then winced at two resulting screams. He knew that his victims had been trampled by their fellows, yet he continued onward, gasping. Once upon a time he would have felt horrible for such actions…but his entire thought process had been reduced to the most basic of animalistic instinct by this point and mercy wasn't even considered.

Rounding a corner, he froze dead in his tracks. A horde was approaching from the opposite direction as well. In alarm, his eyes searched his surroundings frantically for somewhere, ANYWHERE, to hide. A tiny broomcloset was spotted exactly half-way between himself and the approaching mass, and no thought was even given to the subject as he let autopilot take over—it was his only chance. As he willed his legs to propel himself faster, Harry vaguely realized that a figure at the front of the second throng seemed to have the same idea.

The door seemed to move closer in slow motion and he could smell the vanillacherryfrappeswirl lipgloss behind him, feel each stiletto-clad footstep, hear the gelatinous jiggle of a multitude of bosoms…

And then he was there and his whirring mind was hardly able to comprehend his movements as the closet was wrenched open, two desperate bodies scrambled inside, and the door was pulled shut behind them with an audible 'click.'

Then the wave hit. As the tsunami of rabid females crashed against the door, the entire school seemed to shake on its foundation. Howls of fury arose and then the frenzied scrabbling of manicured claws against wood. The assault seemed to last forever until, finally, silence fell. They had escaped…for now.

The closet was very dark (as most small janitorial storages tend to be) due to the audacious assumption that no people would ever consider to occupy it, proving that its designer did not have any problems with fangirls. Inky blackness blotted out everything except for the shallow breaths of its occupants, smothering and oppressive within the four foot by six foot space which smelt sickeningly of lemony fresh Grime-B-Gone.

Judging by the tone of the breathing to his right, Harry knew that his companion was male. However, that was the extent of his knowledge on the subject, and, curious to discover more, he extracted his wand from his back pocket.

"Lumos."

Temporarily blinded by the sudden light, Harry began to furiously scrub at his eyes and was aware of his fellow doing the same. Sight finally adjusted and green met gray.

"GAAAAA!" was the eloquent response from both parties, the two boys leaping as far apart as possible—an amazing seven inches.

"MALFOY!" with shock.

"POTTER!" with shock.

"MALFOY!" with revulsion.

"POTTER!" with revulsion.

"MALFOY!" with anger.

"POTTER!" with anger.

The limits of such a conversation might have been endless if not for the simultaneous realization that the closet did indeed have an exit. Both sprang for the doorknob, wands forgotten, and, after a macho display of much testosterone and stupidity, came to the reluctant conclusion that the door was very much locked and the two were very much trapped. Together. In the process of wallowing in self-pity, the fact that door-unlocking spells existed quite fled their panicky thoughts along with any questions as to why the closet had not been locked originally or why a self-locking closet existed to begin with.

"I can't be trapped in here! Malfoys aren't meant to inhale dirt!"

"I can handle dirt! I can't be in here with you!"

"My hair! My lungs! My dignity! My SOUL!"

"You think you hate it here with me? I'd rather face Voldemort!"

"I'd rather go to Azkaban!"

"I'd rather get the Dementor's Kiss!"

"I'd rather hang myself!"

"I'd rather die by the Cruciatus!"

"I'd rather eat the giant squid!"

"I'd rather bear its children!"

"I'd rather become a muggle!"

"I'd rather FACE THE FANGIRLS!"

Silence.

"I hate you, Potter."

"I hate you more, Malfoy."

"Well, I hate you MOST!"

The two boys were now on their feet, eyes flashing and teeth grinding in the watery wand light. The surrounding cleaning supplies forgotten, the two faced off, rage filling the air in a cloud and energy crackling in their glares. Hatred pooled between them, tangible, acrid, and alive with intensity...

They then proceeded to do what any two sensible people would have done in the given circumstances: they fucked.

-

Ron met Hermione down in the common room earlier than usual the next morning, surprising her. His red hair seemed to be attempting acrobatics and he smelled unpleasantly of male. Refraining from wincing, she returned to her book.

"What's the matter Ronald? Forgotten how to turn on the shower water?" She asked dryly, refusing to look up from FUNGI AND THEIR EFFECTS ON WIZARDING HISTORY.

"Very funny. Have you see Harry?"

"No. Why?" The expression on her face as her eyes remained fastened to the page told Ron clearly that toadstools far surpassed him in her heart.

"He never came to the dorm last night!"

With an almost-audible suction-cup-like noise, the girl's gaze pried itself from the dusty lettering and was replaced intently on her boyfriend's face.

"As in you haven't seen him since yesterday?"

"No! The last thing I remember is him going to the library so me and you could snog in peac—"

Hermione cut him off abruptly, eyes widening, "Ron! You mean he left right after dinner?"

Confused by her tone of voice, the boy replied slowly, "Yeah…he said he needed to finish his Herbology essay and that he wouldn't be back for a while…"

"Ron!" she almost screeched, "The fanclub might've gotten him!"

The redhead paled noticeably under his freckles and gulped. Not the fanclub! What had they done to Harry? Had they taken him? What horrendous crimes would they have committed? Should they search? Would they find him? If they found him would it be too late…?

His thoughts were put on hold very abruptly as the man of the hour entered the portrait hole, clothes rumpled and hair which whupped Ron's on sight. As the new arrival noticed his two best friends gawking at him, he blushed and looked down.

Ron and Hermione continued to stare. Angry purple splotches blemished their friend's neck. Three of them.

The Savior of the Wizarding World had HICKIES.

"Harry?" enquired Hermione timidly, "Where have you been?"

"I—er—well, you see…" he began before fading into silence.

"It's okay, Harry, you can tell us," she coaxed soothingly, smiling gently.

"Yeah, mate, you can tell us anything!" Ron grinned broadly and clapped Harry on the shoulder.

"I—well, I don't think you really want to know…" Harry continued, fighting valiantly to regain orthodox use of his tongue…it had been through quite a lot within the past twelve hours.

Hermione pressed the subject, "We just want to know. It's alright if you want to leave your best friends in the whole world in the dark…just because they will support you in anything no matter what you do with undying, loving devotion doesn't mean that they deserve an explanation for your nightly excursions."

Harry winced.

"Come on, mate," Ron gave him an encouraging smile, "why do you sound so nervous? You make it sound like we'd dislike you if you told us or something…we'd never do that!"

Harry smiled hopefully and appeared very relieved. "Really?"

Both of his friends nodded.

"In that case, I made gay love to Draco Malfoy."

The "loving and devoted" reaction was immediate and unanimous:

"HOLY SHIT!"

Expectedly, Hermione reacted much more calmly than Ron. In fact, Harry could have sworn that a look of acceptance and understanding crossed her face before she fell into a dead faint.

Ron reacted rather favorably as well, Harry thought optimistically. As the room trembled, Ron proceeded to impersonate a nuclear explosion… but only a relatively small one. The carpet would most likely never recover, but that, amazingly, would be the only lasting damage. Mouth foaming, Ron finally followed his girlfriend into the realms of unconsciousness and Harry was left by himself in the eerily quiet common room.

As any good friend would have done in the situation, he left to get breakfast.

-

Hermione and Ron never appeared in the Great Hall that morning and Harry was forced to venture to Care of Magical Creatures alone. When the two finally arrived in the class, he was ignored in favor of the two's frantically whispered conversations. If not for his incredible manliness, Harry would have cried.

The day passed without incident (besides the fact that the plant they studied in Herbology had a decidedly lemony scent) and soon Harry found himself in the Room of Requirement. First he broke things, then he cut himself, then he masturbated. He was curled up in a corner, a ball of insecurities and teen angst, when a knock came at the door. Irritated that his emo moment was being disturbed, Harry snarled at the door and then retreated into himself once more, not noticing as a certain Slytherin entered the room and took in the scene of destruction, angry look on his face.

Harry finally glanced up at the intruder.

"Fuck you!" Harry howled.

"Fuck you!" Draco responded.

"Fuck you!" Harry hissed.

"Fuck you!" Draco shrieked.

They did.

-

Much later, Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room looking lost and afraid. Two more lovebites had been added to the tie-dye appearance of his neck and he could feel eyes staring from every direction. Damn horny portraits.

It was around midnight and the only two people in the common room when he arrived were (surprise surprise) Ron and Hermione. His silent pleadings to fate asking that they wouldn't notice him went unheard. As they looked up, he steeled himself for the detonation.

"Harry!"

"You're back!"

Two cheerful faces greeted him.

"What took you so long?"

"We were beginning to worry!"

"Ouch. Those look painful!"

"Do you want me to fix them, Harry?"

The gears in the bespectacled teen's head began to clank and whirr with confusion. Luckily, he remained articulate even in the most unanticipated of situations.

"…ga?"

Suddenly, the two were all over him, hugging and patting and smiling frighteningly. Harry's wits finally returned and he succeeded in forming an entire sentence.

"Aren't you guys mad at me or something?"

The freakishly wide grins didn't even falter as Hermione replied blithely, "Of course not, Harry! We're your best friends! We've come to the conclusion that we'll love you no matter what and you'll always be our best friend!"

Harry was so overwhelmed by the sentimentality of the moment that he didn't even gag at the cheesiness.

"But…but…"

"What, Harry? I thought you'd be glad. Besides, we put our heads together and realized that you've been in love with Malfoy for quite some while now. We're glad you finally told us."

"I don't love Mal—"

Harry's voice was cut off as his thoughts ran amok. Suddenly, his own emotions were painfully clear to him and a moment of truth flashed before his eyes. This epiphany made all the other epiphanies he'd ever experienced were dwarfed comparison (except maybe the one in preschool about sand). His heart seemed to expand with the knowledge. Each and every interaction between the two "arch enemies" was suddenly explained. Why else would they have beaten the shit out of each other? Why else would they have mocked each other's backgrounds and families? Each and every one of those mysterious wanking sessions was abruptly explained.

Harry was proud to say that his passing out was much less girly than Ron's.

-

The next few months were wonderful for Harry. He and Draco finally admitted their undying love for each other in the Great Hall during breakfast the next morning (oddly enough, attempted table shagging was against the rules and resulted in deducted house points) and then proceeded to revel in the constant supply of love, adoration, and hot kinky sex.

All in all, everyone involved lived happily ever after. Voldemort was defeated two days before the graduation feast (as could only be expected) and Draco's parents were strangely supportive of their son's relationship after the Ministry was finished with them.

Harry and Draco moved in together after graduating from Hogwarts and lived a quiet life. That is, until Draco came into his Veela powers at age eighteen, was kidnapped and raped by ex-deatheaters, and Harry was impregnated with Draco's child…

…but that was another story entirely.

-

De end.

-


End file.
